Rumours
by emrei
Summary: COMPLETE. What better tool or mechanism to unite the divided houses into hormoneinduced, dramaneedy teenagers than the possibility of a relationship between the Head Boy and Head Girl? Written for the dhrvalentine challenge
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Rumours  
  
**Summary:** What better tool or mechanism to unite the divided houses into hormone-induced, drama-needy teenagers than the possibility of a relationship between the Head Boy and Head Girl?  
  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's Note**: This fic was written for the dhr_valentine challenge sponsored by Contra Veritas, and managed by Varada and Smashing Sugar – these two girls deserve every D/Hr plushy for all their hard work. Requirements of the fic Notes will be found at the end in Chapter 3.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**RUMOURS**

Chapter 1

*        *        *        *        *

Hidden in the darkness of the night, a figure was at a standstill fifty feet above the ground. The night sky was a pitch black as the clouds blocked his only source of light. It was a windless, lightless, warm night. It seemed as if everything was sucked out of the world – its only occupant a young man riding on a broom. 

In the distance, a light shone. It was so miniscule, the distance making it even smaller. Yet in the darkness, its significance was breathtaking. The light grew in intensity, calling him, beckoning him, teasing him, daring him to come close. Hypnotized, he flew to the window like a moth to the flame. 

A familiar cat jumped onto the window sill beside the candle, entranced by the dance of the flickering flames. So close it was that it burned nearly burned its whiskers. It backed away, hair raised, teeth bared, its hissing calling the attention of its owner. 

He steered his broom to the side so as not to be in plain view of the room's occupant.

One Hermione Granger sat in bed, pillow supporting her back, and knees drawn up to her chest. A book rest on her knees as she looked to her cat upon hearing his dislike. He could have sworn that she looked directly at him. Her eyes, usually full of life; of fire that roared with intensity during debates; that flickered with emotion; that danced with the wind, almost dying, almost losing, but certainly not without a fight – gave up. They were dim and muddy brown, glossy and inattentive to her world. Her normally wild and frizzy hair lay limp and dank, elongating her saddened face. No smile graced her features, no sadness, no fear, and no hope. She looked empty. 

She sighed and got off the bed to soothe her angered cat. 

Still unnoticed by Hermione, he remained in his position, unable to break his gaze. Staring at Hermione had been like staring at the lit candle. It'd been a week since he'd seen her so unguarded, her emotions so raw. The past week was full of polite professionalism, of efficient conversations between two unknown people - as if they weren't the Head Boy and Head Girl of Hogwarts who called for a tactile truce after uniting their skills of intimidation, no-question authority against a rebellious, no-name prefect who dared to blatantly defy and disrespect them. 

She had gone back to the days before they became partners. 

The candle's flame blew out and it was dark. 

The figure's bravado increased in the darkness, for who could see outside their tainted window in the dark night? Who could see the young man covered in his black cloak on his black broom? Who could see this young man's gloved hand reach for the window, attempting to trace the outlines of her face? A thin glass separated them and there was no light. Who could see? 

A patch in the cloud let the moonlight through. 

Hermione let out a gasp in fright, unable to make out the dark stranger floating in the air. 

'Two options: a Dementor or a Death Eater,' Hermione's mind calculated.

Shortly after she began to reach for her wand, he pulled his hood down and let his hair loose. 

At the sight of his white-blond hair, Hermione repeated facts, 'Lucius is dead. No Death Eater is going to kidnap me. Dementors don't have white-blond hair…' she said. Grey eyes bore into her soul and she knew who he was. Habit controlled her body and she automatically unlocked the latch on her window. 

She'd forgotten their situation, as it was evident in her facial expression when she let him in. Her eyes lit up once again, a smile about to reach her lips – it'd been a while since he'd come to her like this. 

The suppressed look of surprise on his face confused Hermione. After all, this was frequent, constant, and there was no question, except… her mind jumped back to her previous thought, before habit controlled her, "… so that rules out a Kiss." 

She immediately stilled as she remembered their situation. 

"What do you want, Draco?" she asked. 

She remained indoors, feet on solid ground, scared, uncertain and shy of the male outside her window during the odd hours of the night. It certainly delivered pretence and an aura of romance with him outside her window late at night. That was never the case with Draco.  

After his flight, they would reminisce in the day's events and discuss the day's news, or the effects and consequences of the broiling war on the school, and most often than not, they would test each other on the school subjects, for they matched in intellect – his weakness her strengths, and vice versa, as they were both against admitting. 

He expertly guided the broom to brush past her as he entered the room. As he did, he whispered in her ears, "To converse with you." 

Up until a week ago, their developing relationship caused a ripple effect in the school among its students. Their relationship was something to be talked about; not because he was an heir to both the Malfoy and Black family lines; or that she was the lowly Muggle-born who consistently defied prejudice and dethroned pure-bloods from their comfortable seats. 

He was Draco Malfoy. 

She was Hermione Granger. 

Strip them of their titles and change their names, they would still be two people born to lead, who demanded as much respect as they gave, who were looked upon, adored by and vied to be. 

It was this popularity that aroused unity in the students. What better tool or mechanism to unite the divided houses into hormone-induced, drama-needy teenagers than the possibility of a relationship between the two? 

The Hufflepuffs saw it first. Initially, it was considered to be a wildly romantic a fairy-tale of sorts, until two of their own saw playful banter hidden beneath their usual cutting exchanges.  From then on, the Hufflepuffs wondered when something dramatic, romantic, or tragic would occur. 

Ravenclaw soon followed and debated the pros and cons of such a match. They theorized, hypothesized, and made charts and diagrams of the probability. They were the logic to the 'puffelian dreams and wishes. 

The Gryffindors and Slytherins scoffed and snorted at the prospect, still stuck behind House rivalry. Those that did slightly accept speculated hidden plots and schemes designed to take the other down like spies infiltrating organizations through a person. 

The Hufflepuffs were indeed right in their observation. Beneath the growing respect they held for each other, beneath their growing trust, beneath the physical appreciation, something sparked. 

He kissed her at the ignition. 

She kissed him back as it flared. 

They separated when the oxygen burned. 

And she walked away.

"Talk away," Hermione proclaimed, "and please, make yourself comfortable in my room," she added sarcastically. 

The man had the audacity to enter her room as if nothing happened. He placed his broom in the same corner he always did, and sat on the chair beside her bed as he always did. She frustratingly wondered if she was the only one aware of what happened last week. 

Last week, the close proximity of his body allowed her to feel the throbbing pulse of his heart. His unique scent overwhelmed her and she was drawn into the eyes that stared into hers with lust and desire. The only sound heard was the exhalation of mingling breaths.  

She fought against rationale and abandoned inhibitions. Desire took control of her actions and she gave into him.  

His delicious lips parted from hers and she wanted nothing to do but revel in his arms. 

An intake of fresh air and her brain began to function. She froze in his arms and realized that nothing – absolutely nothing – could, would, or should ever happen between them. 

Her priorities were laid out, simple and clear: top the record for most N.E.W.Ts., win the war, and most importantly, survive the war. 

Only then could she afford to give into her selfish desires. 

So she walked away from him.

Away from something that she was certain would have been one of, if not, the best thing to happen to her.  She could have given them the chance to bloom, to grow, to develop, to immerse herself into something unknown that was both terrifying and magnificent at the same time, but she chose not to. 

Crookshanks, beloved cat that he was, was a traitor, an evil traitor who preferred his attention than hers. She needed him more, his contented purrs and relaxing presence, especially with Draco in the room. 

"And pray tell, dear partner of mine, what is it you wish to talk about?" she asked, walking over to her bed. 

She simply had no time for this. Every minute and every second was accounted and scheduled for. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she was at a loss for what to say. 

"How's the weather outside?" she asked idly.  

"It's lovely, would you care to take a midnight flight?" he answered playfully, very aware of her fear of flying. 

She opted not to bother answering the question. If he wanted to play, then she would play. A fake smile plastered on her lips and she sweetly asked, "The rumours running the mill?" 

His eyes glinted in the dark and Hermione wondered if the moonlight found another patch in the clouds. 

"Rumour has it that I stole your virginity," he answered, a mischievous smirk dancing on his lips. 

Hermione was briefly reminded of old times when they would throw insults at each other, often derived from the thoughts of the student body. The ones from their Houses provided the most entertainment. 

"Just like your failed attempt at serenading me outside my window?"

"Or that you needed money to fund your tuition."

The tension lessened and she relaxed in his presence. She melded present with the past and she thought she could tease him with anything. She expected him to return her remark with more haughtiness than she threw at him. 

"And that I broke your heart when I rejected you. Oh wait…"

She was wrong. 

"Nobody rejects me, Granger, in fact, I was so amazing that you didn't know how to control your prissy self."

Her eyes narrowed, claws extending, waiting to strike. 

"Very certain, are you, Malfoy?"

He paused momentarily, she presumed, to collect his thoughts. She watched as his hands stroked the thick fur of her cat. They sat silently for a few minutes, staring transfixed at Crookshanks who purred loudly in satisfaction.    

"Have you heard the professors whispering, Granger?" he broke the silence in a low voice. 

"They're not blind. Do you think we're the first to face the world as it is right now?" She looked up, realizing that they were not – the issues surrounding their world was eerily similar to Harry's parents during Voldemort's first era of terror.  

"There is one difference, however," he continued, "Never," he emphasized, "have they ever encountered anyone by the likes of us." 

There was no question, nor arrogance in his voice. She was unsure if he meant it professionally or romantically, but it didn't matter. He looked directly into her eyes with so much conviction that it sent shivers down her spine. 

"And with the Sorting Hat's song for unity…" she left the sentence unfinished. He was right. Never had two students affected the student body so much. Their efforts of breaking down the prejudice would only be in shame if they allowed the strain in their personal relationship to affect their duties as Head Boy and Head Girl. They were supposed to set an example to the students, and that's what she was going to do. 

"Point taken. What are you really here for, Draco?" 

"This." He stood up from his seat and swiftly came upon her. Once again, Hermione was overwhelmed by his smouldering gaze. She melted into the caress of his soft fingers as his hungry lips aimed to devour her whole. 

He leaned forward and she willingly lay back on the bed. 

Her thoughts and rationality shot out the window and all that remained were pleasure and the need for it to continue, to never stop, and to never let go. 

She could lose herself in this. Lose herself in the feeling of being accepted and treasured by the man she knew would worship her like the newest, fastest, professional Quidditch approved flying broom; who found her intelligence not to be intimidating, but beautiful and who accepted her for who she was.

Her heart fought for dominance and refused to let logic return. Unlike last week's kiss, she allowed a few more minutes under his expertise before gradually returning to the present. 

"Draco…" she said, no moaned, his name. 

"Yes, Hermione?" he whispered seductively into her ear. 

"Draco," she said more sternly, utilizing her strict 'Head Girl' voice. However, the voice that escaped her mouth was deep and throaty, filled with desire. 

"Hermione, keep saying my name like that, and you can sign me up for detention with you, anytime." 

She giggled. Draco ceased softly blowing in her ear to look at her joyful face. The contented look on his face stopped Hermione in her tracks and she was suddenly reminded of the harsh reality. She allowed herself one last kiss on the lip before talking to him. 

"I... uh... that is to say," she mumbled trying to collect her voice and thoughts. 

"By Merlin's balls, mark this in your copy of Hogwarts: A History - I've left Hermione Granger speechless. I knew I was highly skilled …" She shut him up with a playful smack on his shoulder. 

"If you could kindly remove yourself from my personal space, I would greatly appreciate it." Her voice returned and she would have been thankful if it wasn't for the cold draft that hit her when his warm body returned to the chair. 

She had to control her hormones. The chemicals in her body that made her want him closer to her, to be smothered in him, to be devoured by him. They were chemical reactions, perfectly normal and irrelevant to the man who barely attempted to hide his dislike. His lips were pouting in disappointment, red from action, and full as always. 

Hermione sighed and looked away from Draco to the still open window. 

There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him everything she felt – how she wished she could stay in his arms and just stay behind closed doors, oblivious to the world around them.  She wanted to debate and discuss books, life, philosophy, religion, finances, and even Quidditch for the days to come. He meant so much to her – his friendship, his respect, his trust, and most of all, his acceptance. He was a beautiful, breathtaking man inside and out. And she would love to fall in love with him. 

However, with the world being the way it was, she couldn't risk continuing a relationship. If she had to separate, she would separate now, under her own terms and conditions. She could not and would not succumb to her selfish desires when there were more important things to worry about.

They settled their professional issues and it was time to address the status of their relationship. For the sake of the school, and its students, as well as the Wizarding World, Hermione's decision was made. 

"I can't do this," she admitted quietly to herself. 

Draco must have heard her murmur something because he asked her to repeat herself. 

The moon finally escaped from its cloudy confines and bathed Hogwarts in all its glory. Gathering courage from the moonlight, she said the first thing that came to mind. 

"I'm sorry, Draco, but I – we, cannot do this. Not now." 

She heard the shuffle of clothing as he fastened on his cloak; the rustle of the broom as he picked it up. And she felt his cold shoulder move past her.

She was about to explain further but he regained his composure and mounted his broom. Without a word he flew out of the window and she knew where he would go. 

"Because once I let you in, my heart will be yours," she whispered to no one. 

She stole one last look at the man who would steal her heart if she let him. The clouds covered the moon again, and like Draco, it was gone. She closed the window. The traitorous cat returned.

And it was dark again. 

*        *        *        *        *

To be continued … 


	2. Chapter 2

**RUMOURS**

Chapter 2

*        *        *        *        *

The initial push off the ground did not reflect any negative feelings he may have felt, nor was his flying frighteningly quick or depressingly slow. He flew away from her window seemingly unaffected by her rejection.

Hearing the window shut behind him, he leaned down onto the broomstick and shot straight to the Quidditch Pitch.  

He flew in a frenzy, from one end of the pitch to another; left and right, up and down. In sharp angles and narrow curves, he pulled tightly out of danger's way. Never had he flown with such intensity and focus. 

Nobody ever rejected him. He rejected women, not the other way around. 

Draco knew that if things were different, this would not have happened. He would not have gone for a late night flight, nor would he have been entranced by the candle that beckoned him to her. If only last week never occurred. 

'Who am I kidding?' he scoffed at himself. Things had changed long before last week. 

After fifth year, his father went to Azkaban, forcing Draco to take responsibility of the Malfoy fortunes, as well as upholding the tarnished family name. During that time, the last Black died and through his relations, Draco was named Heir. There were specifics to that entitlement, and for the time being, his mother would be in charge of it, as well as the Malfoy estate.  

By the end of sixth year, he was a man. In sixth year, he found childish pleasures in taunting and teasing the appointed Golden Trio. Without his father's presence, and with Draco's newfound freedom, he questioned the war that his father actively participated in, and the man, being, it, thing, that led his father and his father's friends. 

He finally questioned the basis of the prejudice he was brought up to believe and came to the conclusion that blood meant nothing if today was anything to go by. A Half-blood led pure-blood witches and wizards, who obsessed with a boy who rid of him as a baby. Hermione Granger, a Mudblood bested all pure-bloods in a school for magic, and was considered among one of the most powerful in their class. 

In Seventh year, he was Head Boy to Hermione's Head Girl position. On top of everything that happened in sixth year, and the responsibilities of being Head Boy, he also had N.E.W.Ts to worry about. 

Despite knowing his name would get him somewhere in life, it was his personal goal to beat Hermione in every possible aspect. According to his plan, Hermione would remain the center of his torment in hopes of distracting her, thereby allowing him to beat her.   

It was with great disappointment that he appointed somebody else, with as much creativity and more free time, to devote to a favourite past time of his – making fun of, teasing, insulting, picking on Potter and the Weasel. 

His flying no longer consisted of rapid, jagged edges that endangered his life. His breath was quick and shallow when he flew higher up to the sky. He settled up there for a bit, admiring the God-like view of the world. To be so high above the world, ignorant to mortal lives and the worries and stresses that seemed to encompass their lives. For some people it was money, others power and prestige. 

From his position in the clouds, he could understand what drove people like Voldemort and the Death Eaters. It was a power beyond reach - to judge and punish those of undeserving blood and origin. For centuries, wizards and witches were on a pedestal higher than the Muggles. For those lesser beings to come and pretend they were a part of this greatness was annoying, mind-boggling, and threatening. 

He could see that from up here. But down there, in the castle, on the grounds of Earth, where he belonged, he was aware of what judges were missing out on. There were people whose purpose in life was not for personal gain. 

He made his descent to the castle passing by Hermione's darkened room to his own. 

He berated himself for not realizing sooner – the night their relationship started. Not the relationship when she was the Mud-blood who scored higher than he did, where she was a mere thorn that kept irritating him and his perfect life. The relationship he traced back to the beginning was weeks after the start of term when a rebellious prefect dared to question not only her authority, but his as well. 

Ever since that incident, an underlying respect settled itself. That underlying respect began to see her in a new light, a light where her quirks were no longer annoying, where she wasn't competition, or a threat to his existence. In that light, he had grown to accept her as a witch by her own right. Since then, it was an upward spiral to last week. 

He'd always thought her to have beautiful lips – even better than his, actually. Her lips were something that he'd noticed ever since first year despite the attention her buck teeth demanded. Even before girls learned cosmetic spells, Hermione had the most luscious lips. They were full, pouty and red. 

Along with the respect and acceptance he gave, her physical attributes seemed to slap him in the face. Her eyes, despite their plain colour, were flaring with life. Combine his appreciation for her features, her intellect, and his acceptance; it would be unsurprising to anyone but himself that a potent attraction had refused to come to light until last week. 

Last week when her eyes beckoned him and the movement of her lips entranced him. 

After that, he thought she was playing hard to get like most females tended to do. Days later, she was still avoiding him. Despite his confidence in his skills, he thought that she was so disturbed by his kiss that he needed to ask her. 

For the sake of his manhood, of course. 

He often wondered how a Slytherin man, such as himself, asked a question of this nature without making his weaknesses known. He was an expert in hiding the truth, but through experience, he learned that Hermione was able to see through his carefully selected words. 

Luckily, there was no need for him to properly phrase a question since she asked him, rather bluntly as was her Gryffindor nature, what he came for. 

He replied the best way possible. Not only did his ego inflate but it came as strong and stiff as a board. 

He gathered the pillow in his hands and groaned in frustration. 

She was pretty, yes, and she was smart, and she was selfless. Bring it all down to the basics and that's what he admired the most about of her, but why did she affect him so much? 

Why was he so disappointed when she looked away from him and told him that they couldn't continue? What was that feeling he felt when he decided to leave the room? It was anger, he knew, but there was something in his chest, something that made him close into his shell and leave before she finished what she had to say. 

All the emotions she caused him to feel were new and unidentifiable to him. 

Draco had yet to discover the depth of his feelings for Hermione. There was something that lay hidden and unexplored, that refused to make itself known until his mind readied himself for it. His mind had only begun to prepare him for the revelation, and he chided himself for not seeing it earlier. 

Hoping to figure out the mystery of his feelings for a certain bushy-haired know-it-all, Draco envisioned Hermione in her room when she saw him outside the window. She looked frightened and panicked, but she was already assessing the situation in calm rationality. 

He imagined what a black robed figured floating in the night sky looked like in her mind and from the look in her eyes he knew that she assumed him to be a Death Eater or a Dementor. After all, the only way to get near Hogwarts was on broomsticks. 

Turning his head to look out the window, he played the scene out in his head. His imagination ran away, and like a picture, he vividly watched different scenarios in his mind's eye. 

A red light and she fell with a thump on the floor. Bounded, she was kidnapped by the Death Eater. 

A green light hit Hermione in the head and she died instantly.

Crookshanks hissing, not because of his near-burnt whiskers, but because of the Dementor that was getting closer and closer to Hermione. Kissed and soul-less. Brain functioning, lungs breathing, heart pumping, eyes dim for the rest of her life. 

Draco's blood ran cold. His breathing was quick and shallow, his chest hurting with each breath. A chilling feeling bathed him completely from head to toe. Tears collected in his eyes as he clutched onto the fabric of the shirt he wore. 

The vision of Hermione's life in danger shook him. He feared the absence of her person in his life. He took a deep breath to control himself and left the imaginary world. 

His heart was pulsing was erratically, an ache manifesting in its core. Everything he was feeling – the fear, the worry, the hate – was centered in his heart. He had never felt like this before. 

Never. 

He knew he was attracted to her. He knew he felt something for her. He knew all those things. 

It would be simple to say that his feelings were deeper than he imagined, but it was more than that. There was a peacefulness he often felt when he was with her, but he never dared to think that she was the reason – that his peace depended on her presence. 

Draco thought he could easily label her as the woman he loved, but she wasn't. Not yet. With time, she could be that person. She had rooted herself and settled in his heart. To separate her would be like ripping Crookshanks' claws away from the sofa he used as a scratching post. 

He didn't know what hurt most – that she was trying to remove herself, or that her claws refused to retract when she tried to leave. It would be easier if she didn't like him, that way the claws would go away and it would a nice, clean separation. But it wasn't. 

Actions always spoke louder than words. She reciprocated his kiss, and even moaned his name. Hermione clearly wanted him.

_i'I - we, cannot do this. Not now._' /i

'Why the bloody hell not?" Draco argued petulantly. He was a Slytherin with the blood of both Blacks and Malfoys in his veins and he was entitled to argue as petulantly as he wanted to.

One side, characterized by his House and the Blood, clamoured to take what he wanted by any means necessary. 

The other side, characterized as the gentleman, humbly defended the position to respect her wishes. 

Ten minutes later, the no-longer-humble gentleman was clashing with House and Blood, and he found himself nursing the beginnings of a migraine. 

He didn't want a migraine so late into the night, so he opted for the best solution – one that was the easiest and most likely to work for him in the long run. 

Draco decided to respect her wishes - until Hermione was ready, he would wait for her. 

In the meantime, he would worry about N.E.W.Ts, his mother, and the war. In no particular order. 

*        *        *        *        *

To be continued … 


	3. Chapter 3

**RUMOURS**

Chapter 3

*        *        *        *        *

It was a quiet and somber dinner this particular night at Hogwarts. People poked their food and sipped their drinks slowly. 

N.E.W.Ts were coming to a close, and if it weren't for the war that awaited them, they would have cheered or collapsed in bed to catch up on sleep. Graduation usually meant new beginnings signified by a new journey in life – adulthood. Yet the soon-to-be graduates of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did not look forward to what lay behind the doors. The war continued to brew and soon enough, they would face the harsh reality of the outside world. 

There was no great surprise when all heads turned to the doors of the Great Hall when a panting Hufflepuff burst through.  She was so excited that she proclaimed the news out loud for everybody to hear: "They're together!!"

Automatically, ears perked up and the Great Hall was alive again. 

First to hear the details of the news were the Hufflepuffs and a few people from other houses that made their way through. 

The Hufflepuffs romanticized and emphasized that drama and emotions of the event that they believed to occur in the Astronomy Tower, or better yet, outside by the lake. They pictured desperation as the rain poured down on them, with slaps and heated arguments to complete the picture. They pictured Draco waiting outside holding flowers, chocolates and jewelry in an attempt to win her over. Hermione, having gone outside without a cloak, was shivering as her white shirt was completely soaked in the rain. Like a proper gentleman, Draco offered his cloak to her. 

Ravenclaw, after much debate of the personalities of Head Boy and Head Girl, concluded that they would have dealt with it in a calm and professional manner, where they laid out their priorities to reach a mutual agreement. After which, they would share a passionate kiss on top of Madam Pince's desk. 

Once again, Gryffindors and Slytherins shared the same sentiments – beneath their jokes and denial, they accepted them. 

Gryffindors laughed uproariously at the re-enactment of Draco's pitiful attempts to win Hermione. They used the term 'win' loosely as they were sure Hermione took pity in him. 

Slytherins on the other hand, snickered and mentally acknowledged Draco's skill in bed. They were sure that Draco bound Hermione to bed and seduced her to submission. Either that or Hermione begged him to teach her, first hand, how to seduce men. 

The truth of the matter was that it started similarly to what Ravenclaws deduced; it started and ended the same way. Hufflepuff's romantic sentiments filled the middle of the story, but no rain was present. And the remaining two houses were completely off track - if only they let go of their House rivalry. Some things were hard to let go, it seems. 

*        *        *

Hermione followed him not but two seconds after he exited the room. 

She thought back to that day months ago, a week after he kissed her on Valentine's Day, when she told him that she couldn't risk a relationship with him. Looking back, she could appreciate her good logic for not starting a relationship then; now, she wanted nothing more than to slap herself on the forehead.  

If she had known the fear, the worry, and the helplessness she felt when Professor Dumbledore told Harry, Ron and herself that Draco would embark on a mission that risked his life for the Order of the Phoenix, she would have succumbed then, if only to have been able to spend more time with him. 

"Draco!  Stop," Hermione called out, "I need to talk to you." 

This was her last chance. She desperately needed to tell him what she really felt. This was the man who was closest to possibly ever making her feel complete, whole, loved, cherished, everything that she ever wanted and he had a right to know that. 

Hermione supposed that he may not have anything worth fighting for – with his mother dead and his name nearly dirt in the world. He would stupidly risk his life to renew his family's honour and she was afraid of that. She wanted him to live. She wanted him to survive.

And if he had nothing, then she would give him something to come back to. 

"Please, Draco. This is important," she pleaded. 

He never forgot that night when he made up his mind to respect her wishes.  And now, after months of awkward silences when left alone together, still putting on the façade of friendship for the sake of the school and the students, she wanted to talk to him. 

Well, bloody hell, he didn't have time for it right now. He had to stay focused and determined; he had to stay strong to do what needed to be done and damn whatever she had to say. He told himself that he was unaffected by her reaction – that he didn't hear her gasp in surprise, or notice her body stiffen at the implications of his dangerous mission. 

He left Professor Dumbledore's office as soon as he relayed the news, hoping to escape the interrogation, or accusations, or whatever the three of them had to throw at him. 

Of course, that hadn't happened for as soon as he reached the hallway, he heard the staircase move and the echo of her approaching footsteps in the empty hallway. She had insisted, persisted, and annoyingly followed him, calling out to him in a quavering, yet demanding voice. No longer was he able to deny himself of the truth. She still harbored some feelings for him, it was as clear as the tears in her eyes. 

"What, Hermione?" he asked bitingly as he turned around. His eyes were a steely gray that glared at her with loathing. He was annoyed and frustrated and obviously just wanted to be left alone. Hermione did not care because she had to talk to him. 

She didn't know what to say. All she focused on was her need to talk to him and actually getting him to talk to her. She didn't think past that, and was at a loss for words. 

Jumbled words attempted to form sentences to tell him exactly what she felt, and wanted to know. Sentences tried to readjust themselves so that a question mark formed at the end. Her teeth bit on her lip, her feet dug on the floor, and her eyes stared at his nose, then his cheeks, and his forehead, then his hair. She looked everywhere but the eyes that bore into her soul. 

'Focus Hermione' she scolded herself. She needed to focus and find the words to communicate what she had wanted to say since he flew away that night - the words that he never got to hear. Was it wishful thinking to believe that if he heard the words all those months ago, that things would have been different – that he would have understood? 

He stood impatiently waiting for her to say something. 

Deep inside, in a part of him that refused to let his emotions out, something begged, pleaded and wanted her to continue. If what she needed to say was so important, then she would tell him regardless of what feelings delivered. After all, it was she who rejected him when he put his heart out on the line. 

"Don't tell me I need to get your copy of uHogwarts: A Historyu to mark today as the second time I've rendered you speechless." He drawled. 

Hermione looked at him confused for a moment, wondering what he was trying to accomplish. She perfectly remembered the first time he commented on her inability to produce speech.  Was that an opening he offered, or was he simply mocking her? She didn't put it below him to think that he meant both. It was classic Draco to confuse her like this. 

"That night, you left before I finished what I had to say," she began. 

"I heard enough, Hermione," Draco replied, his frustration growing for she had called him to recall past events that had already been dealt with. 

"What was the last thing you remember?" she continued, undeterred by his dismissive replies.  

"You couldn't do i_this/i_," he answered, emphasizing the last word. 

A deep sigh escaped his lips.  He brought his fingers to massage his forehead. He looked like a tired man, an emotionally exhausted man, who seemed almost heartbroken. Almost. 

"Whatever 'i_thisi_' was,' he added sarcastically, 'I am a gentleman, Hermione, and I respected your wishes." 

"And I thank you for respecting my wishes."

Once again, she confused him. Women, in general, he understood. He was able to read their behaviour to predict their reactions. The most useful skill he acquired was his ability to avoid any situation that involved an emotionally distraught female. 

Hermione Granger took him for the most confusing vertigo he'd ever experience. This was the woman whose emotions he could not simmer by saying a few appeasing words, or with bright expensive jewels. She stood in front of him, not yelling, nor crying, nor demanding. 

If what Hermione said months ago were anything to go by, then she should be happy that he respected her wishes. However, if that were the case, then she wouldn't have called after him. 

"So why did you call me, Hermione? You got what you wanted." 

She gathered the courage and bravery associated with her house to tell him exactly why she called him – to deliver her heart onto a silver platter for him to stomp on if he chose to.

"I was scared, Draco," Hermione said. At his silence, she continued to explain. 

"I couldn't bear to handle all the emotional repercussions if we ever ventured into a relationship. We had N.E.W.Ts, our duties and the war to worry about."

"So now that two things are crossed of your list, you think you can uncross my name? It doesn't work like that, Granger."

"I'm not saying that.  I am letting you know, I am confronting this issue now because I am scared…"

"Again?" he scoffed.

"Yes, again, because I'm afraid that I'll never have the chance to tell you how much you mean to me!"

With each passing syllable, Hermione voice increased. A sob escaped her lips and her body visibly shook in a struggle for control. She wrapped her arms around herself. Too weak and tired to hold herself up, she leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes to seek comfort in the blankness of her surroundings. She saw darkness and heard nothing but her ragged breathing as she waited for her throbbing heart and headache to subside. 

The chilling feeling Draco felt all those months ago hit him in full force and he could do nothing but go to her and hold her in his arms. She instinctively held onto him and they stood in the empty hallway holding each other. She cried then, when his arms encircled him. The dam broke loose and her body wracked with a sob.  

Draco ran his hand up and down her back to soothe her. He held on tighter, trying to convey all the emotion he felt in holding her. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead, doing anything he could to make her feel better. Her sniffles eventually died down under the attention he was giving her and she was calm again. 

"What do you want, Hermione?" he softly asked.

She was reminded of a time when the tables were turned and she asked that question. Looking up at his lips, she understood that the only way to ever properly answer was through actions. No words could ever express what needed to be conveyed. She could try, but they didn't have time. Reality set in and she answered him.  

"This," she whispered quietly.

Imprisoned emotions escaped. Fueled by desperation and last chances, their lips met hungrily. The fire burned reaching new levels of intensity. Never had they felt this much desire, need, want, hunger for the other's touch, for this type of intimacy. Months of holding back, respecting wishes, and doing what one thought was best, unleashed. 

Oxygen burnt just as quickly in the past, but they refused to part; absolutely refused to separate, to be individuals again. Hands grabbed, holding on tightly trying to get as close as possible. 

They ignored the approaching footsteps. The audible gasp fell on deaf ears and the couple remained kissing. Only the sound of a delighted squeal quickly broke them apart. Draco and Hermione didn't bother to identify the figure whose quick steps ran back to where they came from. 

Draco leaned his forehead against hers and was content in staring at her beautiful brown eyes. 

"What does this mean, Hermione?"

"It means," she said looking up into his eyes, "my heart is yours; that you have to come back and return it." 

"Are you sure about this?" Draco asked. 

"Very. And besides," she answered, "we can't very well disappoint the students now, can we?"

He laughed, certain that the intruder was running the rumor mill now. 

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The End 

What did you think? Please review! 

*

The following fic is in response to **Fic Request #32** which stated the following conditions:  
  
**Rating(s) of the Fic:** PG-13 or R  
  
**3-5 Things to Include in the Fic:**  
1. Seventh year. They could be Head Boy/Head Girl, or not.  
2. Draco and Hermione must, I repeat must, fall in love with *each other*; meaning, with one another's intellect, spirit, ideals, soul, what have you- not just hook up because they are suddenly both HOT.  
3. A lot of good drama/angst.   
4. A nice fight is good for creating said drama/angst.  
5. A life-threatening situation to one or both of them; could be the "final battle", or something else entirely. Your choice. Should force them to confront their feelings for each other. There should be a happy ending, though!   
  
**What Not to Include in the Fic:**  
1. A whole lot of fluff or a whole lot of sex. A little is fine- tantalize me! But I prefer a good plotline to bunches of senseless snogging!   
2. Bronzed God Draco, Supermodel Hermione.   
3. Endless inner dialogues, i.e., "She's so hot all of a sudden- but she's a mudblood! But she's hot! But she's a mudblood! But she's hot!"   
4. No shared bathroom! They can be HB and HG, but they do not share a bathroom! It's just not realistic. (Major pet peeve of mine!)

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